


Scrabble Games Have Taught Me This

by Poetiicdissonance



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Business, Childhood, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Kid Fic, Kid Tim Drake, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetiicdissonance/pseuds/Poetiicdissonance
Summary: When Tim Drake is seven years old, he meets Ra's al Ghul at a charity gala.
Relationships: Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Ra's al Ghul
Comments: 5
Kudos: 159





	Scrabble Games Have Taught Me This

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [“Hello, there”](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/746526) by khachalala. 



> Hey! So I was entirely insired to write this whole thing on the adorable peice of art by Khachalala on tumblr, which can be found [here](https://khachalala.tumblr.com/post/637953095733837824/hello-there-ras-may-or-may-not-had-met-tim), and I'd say you should probbaly look at thius before you read this, it really helpt o establish the entire visual/vibe. 
> 
> But smol Tim meets Ra's? An idea I am more than a fan of... though more Tim and Ra's content of any type is always a win! I hope you enjoy!

The party was large-- tables set up in one half of the ballroom, the long tables full of food tucked back by the windows. Tim sits near the corner of the buffet table, knees tucked up to his chest, a glass of ginger ale held in one hand, the ice occasionally clinking against the glass. 

He blinks and frowns, the feeling of the contact lense in his eye a little irritating. He hasn’t used them much before this, only ever once or twice when he’d needed to look ‘presentable’. His glasses were easier, but mother had said she wanted to look like a Drake, and that meant not having glasses covered in fingerprints. 

His suit matched his mother’s dress, but not his father’s suit, something he assumed had been intentional on his mother’s part: an indigo bowtie and a dark grey waistcoat, instead of his father’s orange paisley tie and complete lack of waistcoat at all. His parents had a strained relationship, that much was clear, and it didn’t take the servants whispering about it when they thought he wasn’t paying attention to know that much.

His mother was sitting at a table talking with a handful of other business executives, while his father danced with a pretty model that had come in on the arm of one of the charity donors. His sister, if Tim remembered correctly from the introductions when his parents had been trying to pretend to be a happy family. They both loved him he knew, but they didn’t love each other, so instead they travelled the world for forty-six weeks of the year, because at least on an archeological dig there was something more interesting than stock prices and public appearances. 

The glass was mostly empty, most of the liquid left just water that had melted from the ice cubes. He stood up, refilling the glass from the buffet table before going back to his chair tucked into the corner by the ornate windows, stilling when he realized there was a man looking out, right beside where his chair was. 

Tim didn’t recognize him, but that didn't mean much. There were a lot of people here, and he had only been brought around and introduced to a handful of them, most of them what his grandfather would disparagingly refer to as ‘new money’. Tim wasn’t certain what that meant, except that it was what the media usually referred to as ‘self made’, and that was always presented as a good thing. His mother seemed to find them fascinating though, and he knew that ever since his father had made her the actual CEO that the figures had gone up. He didn’t understand why, had mostly only caught what he had from behind closed doors. 

But the man's green cloak stood out, especially in the room of proper and darkly coloured suits. Tim blinked, and considered if it was worth it to try and reclaim his seat, or if it would be easier to find somewhere new to sit. There were a lot of chairs afterall, and Tim didn’t want to appear rude by interrupting the man from his reverie. Before he could make up his mind, the man looked at him, hands clasped behind him, and the cloak swishing around his ankles slightly. “Hello, there.” he says, smiling slightly at Tim. 

Tim blinks and nods. “Hello.” That was polite; now that he had been greeted and pulled into an actual conversation it would be more impolite to leave, and he knew that mother would be terribly disappointed in him if he were to seem so. She had expectations for him after all, ones befitting his station as heir to the company.

“If you don't mind my saying, you look a little young to be here.”

Tim shrugged; he was seven, but most people thought he was younger than that, thrown off by the wide eyes, and small stature, and most of them didn't care enough to talk to him and be thrown by the ‘surprisingly adult’ way that he spoke. Mother had always told him that it was a good idea to be the smartest person in the room, and that one day, even if not now, it would prove to be a useful skill. She’d told him it over a game of scrabble, one of the few things that they did together when she was in Gotham, and most of the long words he knew had come from that. “My parents thought it would be a good experience.” Which mostly meant that his mother did, because she wanted to impress upon him the importance of what sort of life he was living. Tim knows he takes after her more than his father. 

The man laughs slightly, and Tim is struck with the feeling that he wasn't like any of the other people Tim had met. “And how old are you?”

“Seven,” he stated, leaving off the childish impulse to add ‘but I’ll be eight in three weeks’. The man hummed contemplatively, seemingly distracted by something outside, and Tim took a small sip from his glass. “I’m Timothy Drake.” he introduced, after a beat, and held out a hand in greeting, the action a little stiff.

“A pleasure to meet you, Timothy.” The man returned, accepting the handshake. “I am Ra’s al Ghul.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. al Ghul.” Tim says with his own smile, proud that he managed it without stumbling on the pronunciation of the words. It was one he’d only learned a handful of days ago in the last game of scrabble with his mother, his mother having added it to his two sides of the word ‘quaint’. “What do you think of the party?”

“An interesting experience, though one I’d been led to believe was supposed to have more speeches from the benefactors.” He says, and Tim’s eyes widen slightly, he remembers mother telling him what to expect in the ride over, apparently most of the people that were supposed to speak had all been arrested by Batman the night before. 

“From what I heard, Batman found evidence of corruption in a bunch of them.” he says, and Mr. al Ghul seems intrigued by that news, raising a hand to his chin in thought. 

“How intriguing. You’re a bright child.” He says, and Tim feels like it’s a genuine comment, not like the wives of the board members who like to pinch his cheeks and coo about how adorable he is, it’s a surprisingly nice feeling, he likes the recognition.

“Mother always says knowledge will be the thing that best serves us in life.”Tim says, turning to look out of the window. Most of the time, she said it to him after a row with his father that had ended in doors that weren't slammed, but were not open either, where he would sit on the kitchen counter while she made a cup of coffee. 

“Not an incorrect assumption,” Mr. al Ghul says, “what you know can often be the difference in your success.” He lifts a hand to indicate the ballroom, still full of quiet chatter from nearby tables. “The best at business I find are often the ones that are the most aware of the world for which they are typing to operate in.”

Tim follows the gesture, looking around at the tables of people critically, he wonders if that’s the reason that his mother likes to make more deals with the ‘self made’ people instead of the ones from old money, because if they’ve created themselves from nothing in this world then it would make sense that they were more aware of the world around them, unlike people like his grandfather who kept trying to hold onto tradition. 

“Success… it’s a logical belief.” Tim agrees, taking a sip from his soda. “What is it that you do?” he asks, and turns to look at Mr. al Ghul beside him. 

“I specialize in the environment,” he says, and it’s vague enough that Tim isn’t entirely certain what that could even mean. “I run a company focused on preservation and renewal of our world.” he continues, and Tim nods, the explanation clarifying things, even if not much. “I’ve recently been expanding into America from overseas.”

“An important job, and a large undertaking.” He’d listened to his mother talking about how hard it was to expand internationally on more than one occasion, mostly after his father had suggested it without any consideration for the actual feasibility of it. His father had inherited the company but didn’t actually seem interested in running it, and so his mother was CEO because she was better at it. Some days, he thinks that’s the only reason they’re still married, aside from the scandal it would cause in the press if they were to get a divorce. 

Mr. al Ghul laughs, and smiles at Tim. “Yes Timothy, Gotham had some vital corporations to make it easier to expand in the rest of the country.” 

Tim looks around the rest of the room, occasionally pausing on people he knew ran the larger companies in the city. “Like Wayne or Stagg Enterprises? They have national reach.” 

“Exactly.” Mr. al Ghul says, “Or,” and here he pauses, looking at Tim curiously. “Drake… as in Drake Industries?”

“Yes sir. We’re not nearly as large yet as Wayne Enterprises, but mother feels confident that we’ll soon be able to rival them.”

“An ambitious goal,” Mr. al Ghul comments, but he looks pleased by the news, like it’s something interesting, or something useful to keep in mind. Tim isn’t entirely certain that it isn’t. In a room full of business executives it was always useful to know who had what power-- it was interesting that Bruce Wayne wasn’t here, he was usually photographed at these sorts of functions, Lucius Fox was however. “How do you plan to achieve that?”

Tim looks up at Mr. al Ghul with his wide eyes even as something more calculating works behind them. “A combination of advan- advanta-” He pauses, quietly sound the word out under his breath, frowning as he lisps around the ‘g’ “Advantageous,” he says after a beat, feeling distinctly pleased at the success, “business deals, and the consuming of smaller companies.” he answers. Mother thought it was important for him to understand, even if his father thought he was too young (his father thought he was too young for a lot of things, he didn’t seem to realize, Tim thinks, that his son was smarter than most children his age). 

Mr. al Ghul makes another humming sound,steepling his fingers in front of him. “I assume in order to subsume their infrastructure instead of creating your own?” Tim wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, but he’d heard something that sounded similar from the servants before, that talked about Drake Industries like some monster that ate things in its path. They seemed unimpressed, but Mother always said it was cheaper that way. Tim just nods.

“Most enlightening.” Mr. al Ghul says, and his hands drop back down to his sides. 

“I’m glad you think so.”

Mr. al Ghul looks at him, and it feels a bit like being analyzed, like being seen under a magnifying glass or a microscope-- he doesn't know what the man is seeing. “I’m sure you’ll accomplish great things.” he says, when he finally looks away, returning to look outside, the ground outside illuminated for a few feet by the golden glow from the ballroom. “However nice it’s been to meet you, Timothy, I’m afraid I must take my leave.” 

“You as well,” Tim says. Mr. al Ghul gives him a short bow, and then he vanishes into the crowd of the room, as fast as he’d appeared at the window, and Tim is left alone again, the only indication that any time had passed the fact that the cup in his hands with slightly smaller cubes of ice. He takes another drink from his soda, and settles back into his seat with a yawn. He wasn’t entirely certain what to think about the encounter, but it had made for an interesting night. An intriguing man to carry in the annals of his childhood memories. 

(Many years later, Timothy Drake will meet a man in a green cloak again, and he will have accomplished many great things).


End file.
